


A Moving Sea

by punk_rock_yuppie



Series: Drabbles [9]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Babysitting, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 04:41:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6409207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punk_rock_yuppie/pseuds/punk_rock_yuppie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cisco raises his hand to knock, <i>again</i>, but doesn’t get the chance before the door finally swings open.  Cisco decides it’s been worth the wait.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Moving Sea

**Author's Note:**

> written for a nonny on tumblr (who im pretty sure was believesinponds lmao) who requested hartmon + nail polish. please note this takes place in current canon where hartley is a good guy. 
> 
> not beta'd, and my first time writing hartley in this setting. //nervous.
> 
> enjoy!

Cisco taps his foot impatiently—really, how long does it take to answer the door? Hartley _knows_ Cisco had planned to stop by; Cisco had even been so kind as to shoot off an _“on my way”_ text before leaving his house. And yet, Cisco has been standing on Hartley’s porch for the better part of ten minutes. It got old five minutes ago.

Cisco raises his hand to knock, _again_ , but doesn’t get the chance before the door finally swings open.  Cisco decides it’s been worth the wait.

Hartley stands in the doorway looking thoroughly disheveled. His sleek dark jeans have smears of baby food along the thighs; his deep purple dress shirt is half untucked, wrinkled, and covered in what Cisco guesses is finger paint. Hartley’s hair is sticking up at all odd angles and the lenses of his glasses are smudged with tiny fingerprints. He’s got paint on his cheek, Cisco is pretty sure it’s meant to be in the shape of a heart but it mostly just looks like a blob.

In Hartley’s arms is a sleeping kid, but Hartley still looks panicked. “Ramon.” He snaps, though his tone lacks any venom or heat. “Cisco,” now it’s just pleading, and Cisco is equally intrigued and alarmed. “You have to help me.” Hartley gestures delicately to the kid he’s got balanced on his hip, then jerks his head toward the inside of the house. “There are more of them. I’m going to lose my mind. I can’t do this.”

As if on cue, there’s a crash from inside the house and a chorus of giggles takes over the previous silence. Hartley’s panicked look only grows more frantic. He reaches out his free hand—one thankfully not covered in paint, food, or anything else messy—and grabs Cisco by the arm.

“Please, Cisco. Just help me get them down for naps and I swear I’ll let you leave.”

Cisco still isn’t entirely used to this Hartley—the good Hartley, the Hartley who teases like a friend and not a pompous asshole, the Hartley who apparently gets roped into babysitting. Cisco still isn’t used to this Hartley sending him _memes_ of all things, nor is he used to this Hartley popping in to lend a hand at S.T.A.R. Labs from time to time. Part of him, in the back of his mind, is still wary of this Hartley.

He lets himself be pulled inside anyway.

 

He regrets it almost immediately.

There are four other kids aside from the one still resting in Hartley’s grasp. The kids are wired, bouncing, bundles of endless energy with nothing to corral them. The couch cushions are strewn around the floor; the coffee table is backed into a corner and covered in something sticky. The entire living room is a mess that spills into the hallway and toward the kitchen.

Cisco looks over at Hartley, who just shrugs helplessly.

The kids, still running and jumping and shrieking, pay Cisco and Hartley no mind.

“Okay, who thought leaving you in charge of five kids was a good idea?” Cisco has to ask.

“My parents. A couple they know—they’re trying to make amends across businesses and they figured what better way to do that than to take the couple out to dinner and leave me with their five fuc—freaking kids!” Hartley’s voice is a loud whisper in fear of waking the only sleeping child. “It was fine at first. They were all fine and then we sat down for lunch and…” Hartley trails off with another shrug.

“You’re not used to kids.” It’s not a question. “Neither am I, really.” Cisco admits, a spark of ridiculous fear kindling in his stomach. He’s the youngest of his siblings, which made him the toddler-terror to be reckoned with usually. Sure, he had sort of helped take care of some of his younger cousins from time to time, but that doesn’t make him an expert by any means. “We got this.” He decides.

Hartley’s disbelieving scoff doesn’t help morale.

 

Two hours, several tantrums, and an endless amount of messes later, the kids are asleep. It’s a miracle, Cisco has to say. He’s not entirely sure how it happened, just that one moment things were a whirlwind of disaster, the next the kids were cozied up and sleeping sound.

Cisco’s whole body is sore and he’d bet that Hartley isn’t fairing much better, but one look around the room tells them that their own resting will have to wait. In relative silence, Cisco and Hartley clean up the living room, the kitchen, the hallway, the bathroom. The kids never stir, even as Cisco scoops them up one by one to get them into more comfortable positions.

When all the messes are taken care of and all the kids are piled onto the couch, Cisco and Hartley sink to the floor.

“Thank you.” Hartley whispers as he takes off his glasses. He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes and sighs with relief. “That was a nightmare. I’m never having kids.” He grumbles.

“You owe me, man.” Cisco retorts without any real heat in his voice. He looks over and catches sight of the bright pink stains on Hartley’s fingertips. “Did—is that nail polish?”

Hartley pauses and examines his own fingers. He grimaces. “Yes.” His nails are coated in the polish and several stray strokes of the bright pink polish cover his fingertips. “Never. Having. Children.” Harley repeats.

Cisco laughs. “Here, hang on.” He claps a hand on Hartley’s shoulder both in comfort and to help himself stand. Cisco darts to the bathroom and returns with two things: cotton balls and nail polish remover. He drops to the floor again and reaches for one of Hartley’s hand. “C’mon,” he urges when Hartley hesitates.

“This is not how I imagined today going.” Hartley hisses as he holds out his hand.

Cisco gets a cotton ball wet with the polish remover and sets to work. “Uh, you’re telling me. I had plans for today, you know.”

He caves under Hartley’s unimpressed stare.

“Okay, so those plans were just, y’know, sitting at the labs and building things, but still.” Cisco inspects each of Hartley’s fingers for stray splatters of pink as he cleans. “You’re gonna tell your parents what a monumentally bad idea this was, right?”

Hartley shrugs. “I don’t want to let them down.” He admits, voice even more hushed than before.

Cisco laughs. “Dude, I think your parents kind of owe _you_. I think they’ll understand if you tell them you can’t handle five toddlers all on your own.” Cisco reaches for Hartley’s other hand when he finishes with the first. The pile of cotton balls grows beside them. “I don’t think anyone can really handle that on their own. Not unless they’re like, Super Parent, or something.”

Hartley smiles, small and private. “Yeah. Just.” He shrugs again.

Cisco fills the silence. “You think you let them down before and now that things are normal you don’t wanna let them down again.” He arches a questioning eyebrow at Hartley and snickers when he gets a glare in return. “Dude, I get it, seriously.” He turn to Hartley’s palm and wipes at the pink spots. “I know how that feels.” He doesn’t elaborate.

Hartley doesn’t push. He only nods. “Thanks.” He says in a small voice. “Thank you for helping, too. I do owe you.”

Cisco lets Hartley’s hand drop, free of pink polish as it is. It’s his turn to shrug. “It’s not really a big deal. Couldn’t let a couple of kids run you into the ground, right?” Cisco looks up from gathering cotton balls to smile at Hartley.

Hartley is grinning, too, but there’s something lingering underneath the pleasant expression. Something like confusion or indecisiveness. Hartley looks as though he’s about to speak—and isn’t entirely sure what he’s going to say—but the front door opening cuts him off.

Hartley scrambles to stand and Cisco barely manages to cap the nail polish before it can topple over. Hartley bumbles his way into the hallway, still looking disheveled and worse for wear.

Cisco stands, legs sore, and gathers the nail polish and used up cotton balls in his arms. He makes a detour to the kitchen to ditch the items and walks as slowly as he can back to the hallway. The less time he has to spend with Hartley’s parents, the better. He tries to peek around the corner and make himself scarce but Hartley gestures him over.

Cisco shuffles to stand beside Hartley, and holds out his hand for a shake. “Hi, uh, I’m Cisco.” If nothing else, he knows manners.

As they shake hands, Cisco takes in the two adults before him. He isn’t sure what he expected Hartley’s parents to look like but it’s pretty much exactly how they look now. They’re dressed sharp, not a hair out of place, though their expressions are softer than Cisco would’ve expected. They don’t look angry or especially haughty, just tired and curious.

“Any problems?” Hartley’s dad asks with a pointed glance to the numerous stains on Hartley’s clothes. There’s a smile curling at his lips.

“Not really?” Hartley tries. Cisco bumps his elbow reassuringly. “Not after Cisco got here.” He amends, though Cisco is covered in just as many stains as Hartley. “But, I’d really rather not do that. Ever. If possible.” There’s a soft undercurrent of nerves in his tone. The tension building in his shoulders only sags when his father laughs and nods.

“Deal.” The Rathaway’s attention is pulled from their son and Cisco in favor of the couple they had taken out to dinner. The couple and the Rathaway’s get to work herding the five sleepy kids outside and into the car waiting out front.

Hartley nudges Cisco until they’re facing each other. “Thank you, again.”

Cisco shrugs. “It was nothing. Wasn’t the worst way I could’ve spent my day.”

“Let me take you out to dinner.” Hartley insists, suddenly, maybe a bit too urgent. “As payback—I mean, as thanks.” Hartley tries to no avail to smooth out the wrinkles in his shirt.

Cisco stares. Again, he’s not entirely used to _this_ Hartley. This Hartley who is apparently _bashful_ , and is looking at Cisco while blushing like crazy. He’s not used to this Hartley who just took on five kids for as many hours and is still grinning like he had the time of his life. Cisco scratches the back of his neck, his own nerves bubbling to the surface.

“Okay.” Cisco blurts.

“Really?” Hartley looks up, grin brighter than ever. At Cisco’s nod, he continues. “It’s a date!”

A beat of awkward silence.

“I mean, not a _date_.” Hartley looks mortified.

“It could be a date.” Cisco counters.

Hartley’s embarrassment morphs into skepticism.

Cisco shrugs.

“Really?” Hartley says again as he takes a step closer, head tilting.

“Why not?” Cisco asks right back. “It could be a _date_ -date.”

Cisco knows he’s won when Hartley rolls his eyes, full of irritated affection. “A _date_ -date, really, Ramon? Am I supposed I _like_ -like you, too?”

Cisco grins. “I dunno, Hartley, _do_ you?”

Hartley doesn’t blush any brighter and he doesn’t back down. “We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we? Tomorrow, seven o’clock?” His voice is still a taunt but it’s not harsh. It’s fun, and light.

“Do I get to pick where we eat?”

“Do you promise not to pick Big Belly Burger?”

“No.”

The long suffering look Hartley flashes at Cisco is fond more than anything. “Then no.”

Cisco doesn’t have any retort except to smile.


End file.
